


Dean Winchester Deserves to Die

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cutting, Depression, Gen, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21730939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dean Winchester deserves to die.At least, that’s what Dean Winchester thinks.
Kudos: 12





	Dean Winchester Deserves to Die

Dean Winchester deserves to die.

At least, that’s what Dean Winchester thinks.

Dean doesn’t know when it happened. When his brain went from ‘I don’t want to live’ to ‘I want to die.’ Those are two different things. That’s what Dean tells himself, that there’s a difference between not wanting to live and wanting to die.

Dean didn’t want to die before. He didn’t think he’d ever want to die. Sure, maybe he held a knife to his skin once or twice, maybe he watched the blood drip down his arm as he held back tears, and maybe he almost passed out from the amount of blood he lost a couple of times, but he didn’t want to die. He didn’t think he did.

But, here he is. The mighty Dean Winchester. Standing alone at the top of some tall, unknown building, the stars shining above him and his toes dancing over the edge.

Dean Winchester deserved the die. He was a fuck up, screwed stuff up one too many times. He couldn’t take care of his mom, couldn't keep his dad away from alcohol, couldn't pay for his little brother Sam to go to college - he couldn’t do any of it. He couldn’t do anything.

So, yeah. Dean Winchester deserved to die.

Dean takes a deep breath and looks down at the scars that riddle his forearm. Some are prominent, the marks fresh and scabbed. Others are a sickly white, faded from age. And Dean smiles. Isn’t that sick? He smiles at his self-harm marks, at the marks he put there on his darkest days. He smiles as he remembers the blood and the pain. But, more than anything, he smiles when he remembers the feeling of it. The adrenaline rushing through his body throughout the whole thing, the acceleration as blood dripped down and pooled on the hardwood. 

He fucking smiles.

Dean doesn’t feel that adrenaline anymore. He doesn’t feel anything, really. He doesn’t feel guilty for what he’s about to do, nor does he feel bad about it. He hasn’t smiled - truly smiled - in weeks, maybe months, and he hasn’t cried tears of pain or loss in the same amount of time.

Maybe that’s why Dean did it. All of it. He cut himself so he could feel something, anything, just that rush that alcohol and drugs had failed to give him. And maybe that’s why he’s on a roof right now, the night dark and a slight breeze blowing through his hair and his two-week-old stubble. Because, really, is life worth living if you can’t truly live? If you can’t feel anything, is there really a point?

For Dean, the answer to that question was no. He no longer had any reason or motivation to live. Even Bobby and Sammy has failed to give his life purpose anymore. The two had each other; they’d be fine.

A smile still on Dean’s face, he lets himself drop, lets himself feel the air rushing on his face as he falls down down down -

Goodbye.


End file.
